


Burn the Night Away

by chevrolangels



Series: Witch!Cas [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Cats, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gardener Dean Winchester, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Rituals, Sequel, Spells & Enchantments, Witch Castiel (Supernatural), Witch Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevrolangels/pseuds/chevrolangels
Summary: Getting the key was the easy part.The date is set, the ritual is planned. Now all that's left is to go with through it.Sequel to What Greater Gift.





	Burn the Night Away

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! I finally got my butt into gear to finish up this sequel just in time for spooky season. I couldn't quite let go of Witch!Cas and this AU, so I hope you enjoy :)

“Don’t worry, it’s just going to be some friends.”

“Right,” Dean says.

“And maybe some people from the bakery.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And…maybe everyone else who heard about it.”

“_Charlie_.”

Said bakery-store-owner and number-one-meddler is currently doing everything she can to avoid his eyes, so Dean knows they’re in trouble.

“What?” She says, reaching out to fiddle with his collar. “This is the biggest piece of news, in like—ever. Of course everyone wanted to come. And besides.”

She looks over to Dean’s right, winking. 

“Everyone wants to congratulate the man who finally nabbed the famous Castiel.”

Dean groans, and Castiel just rolls his eyes.

Charlie grins mischievously and tugs on his tie—(because yes, she insisted he wear a _ tie)_—planting a kiss on Dean’s cheek.

“Love ya, too, Dean.”

Before he can so much as scowl, Charlie sashays away, stopping briefly before the archway to brush her hair back, conjuring up a dazzling smile.

“Oh, by the way.”

She turns, pointing between the two of them.

“Totally called this.”

Dean’s cheeks flame, and he opens his mouth, ready to throw down—but Charlie’s already disappearing through the stone archway, a roar of sound greeting her. 

Uh-oh. That sounds like more than just a few people.

Castiel purses his lips, glancing over at Dean.

“You know, I’m starting to suspect this was just an excuse for Charlie to show us off.”

Dean snorts.

“Like she did anything.”

Castiel nods thoughtfully, looking serious.

“You’re right. It was entirely due to my suave seduction skills.”

Dean looks at him, eyebrows shooting up. But when he sees the sly edge to Cas’s smile, he can’t help but laugh, feeling his nerves fly away. Castiel always seems to be able to do that.

Castiel laughs too, nudging Dean slightly with his shoulder.

“You ready?” He asks.

Dean breathes out slowly, but he nods.

“Okay,” he exhales. “Let’s do this.”

Castiel extends a hand, and Dean takes it gratefully, clutching onto Castiel like an anchor.

They step through the archway, out into the town square, and Dean tenses, bracing himself.

There’s a few hoots and hollers, of course—but no one _ claps,_ thank god—and when impending doom doesn’t seem to be imminent, Dean loosens slightly, looking around. He recognizes most of the faces, of course, friends, neighbors—all who seem genuinely happy to see them, lifting their glasses in a toast and welcoming them with warm smiles. 

Charlie gets them both something to drink and then is all business, playing the role of welcoming host. She gives a sort of speech in which she gives herself _ far _ too much credit, then Castiel speaks a few words, succinct and polite. After that, people start coming up to them in turns, all insisting on shaking hands and congratulating them individually, like they’re in a receiving line. Dean supposes in some ways this is like a wedding.

Daphne is the first to approach them, and she gushes for nearly five minutes, mostly ignoring Dean as she lavishes praise on Castiel. Dean is too astounded to say much of anything, and mostly bites his lip to stifle his laughter as she continues to prattle on. Castiel is very gracious about the whole thing, but his sideways glances towards Dean have him on the dangerous verge of bursting out laughing.

As a matter of fact, as the night goes on. Dean finds everyone to be incredibly supportive, including Castiel’s former suitors. Hannah is very mayorly, shaking his hand and offering genuine congratulations, Mandy is overly-emotional, and even Crowley is polite, considering Dean assumed the man would try to murder him.

They’re congratulated, over and over again, and at one point, Charlie comes over and leads Castiel away for some purpose, leaving Dean to field off questions on his own.

But it’s wonderfully easy to talk about him. 

At the beginning of the night, he and Castiel had agreed they’d tell the truth, or at least parts of it—that Dean simply got to know his cat, and by extension Castiel, and they fell for each other. At this point, he’s told the story of how he got the key approximately a thousand times, and everything that’s happened since (no one ever claimed his neighbors weren’t nosy).

Dean ends up in a quiet corner as the party starts to wind down, talking to their local blacksmith, a man called Benny. He’s new to these parts and mostly missed the whole Cat/Cas spectacle, but as he explains to Dean, he doesn’t much mind, as he’s married himself, to a woman named Andrea. He’s got a gruff, dry sense of humor, but when he speaks of his wife, it’s with a fondness Dean can’t help but envy. Will Castiel talk about him the same way? Five, ten, twenty years from now? Dean’s on board, but—

“So what now?” Benny asks, breaking Dean out of his thoughts. “You two movin’ in together?”

“I—” Dean hesitates, lowering his drink. “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.”

Benny grunts noncommittally, but Dean rushes, feeling the need to explain.

“Well, that’s not really the most import—um, I mean—the ritual will take place during the blood moon, and then after that—”

Dean stops, his throat clicking. 

Benny is looking at him carefully, hands wrapped around his glass. Dean knows they’ve just met, but he feels like Benny can already read him like an open book, steely eyes breaking through all Dean’s uncertainty and hedging.

“I don’t know, brother,” Benny says finally, sitting back. “Sounds like something you and this Castiel oughta discuss.”

Dean bites his lip. He’s right. Perhaps he and Castiel need to sit down and finally talk to each other. They’ve been doing plenty else.

Since that first night, Castiel has been at Dean’s house, every single day. They’ve talked about Castiel’s practice, about Dean’s business, Sam, Charlie—they even debated the finer points of combining medicine and magic, something Dean remembers Mom lecturing about frequently, as their village’s resident healer. They’ve even spent some time getting to know each other in other ways, even if Castiel is too much of a gentleman to go further than what have been some of the best kisses of Dean’s life. 

But they haven’t _ talked_. About them, about the ritual, about their future—

And doesn’t that scare Dean half to death.

Benny suddenly frowns, pointing at something over Dean’s shoulder.

“Who’s that?”

Dean glances behind him, and his stomach drops.

Bartholomew is making a beeline towards them across the square, furious.

“Shit,” Dean says eloquently.

He stands, looking around for Castiel, but he and Charlie are too far away, engrossed in conversation.

“Winchester!” Bartholomew yells.

Several heads turn at the yell—but he’s moving too fast. Dean backs up, but Bartholomew is in his space in a second, shoving him back. Benny stands quickly, but Dean holds up a hand, stopping him.

“Wait—Benny, it’s okay.”

“The hell it is—”

Bartholomew grabs the collar of Dean’s shirt, growling.

“You cheated, I know you did,” he hisses. “You weren’t even interested in getting the key. It should have been mine—Castiel should have been _ mine_.”

Dean can't help it—his anger flares at that, and he shoves back, making Bartholomew stumble and let him go.

“He’s not yours, he’s not _ anybody’s_,” he snaps. “And I didn’t _ cheat_. I just treated him like a human being.”

Before Dean can process the irony of that lie, Bartholomew scoffs, grabbing Dean’s wrist.

“If I find out how you did this—”

A strange spark of power surges through them, blue blazing in Dean’s eyelids—and suddenly Bartholomew is reeling back, cradling his hand as if he’s been burned.

Castiel comes from nowhere, stepping smoothly in front of Dean.

“Bartholomew,” he says, his voice cool, but crackling with fury. “I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

Castiel’s eyes, normally a darker blue, are now electric, brimming with his power. Bartholomew drops his hand, looking between the two of them. With an angry scowl, he turns on his heel and stalks away. 

Castiel’s hands unclench, his eyes slowly fading back to their normal color.

Benny lets out a low whistle.

“Damn.”

Castiel takes no notice, quickly turning to Dean.

“Are you alright?” He asks, softening. 

Dean shrugs, rubbing the spot on his wrist where Bartholomew had grabbed him.

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine.”

Castiel purses his lips. He doesn’t seem to believe him, because he reaches out, tilting his jaw up with gentle fingers, checking him over.

Dean swallows, but makes no effort to get Cas’s hands off him.

“A-_hem_.”

Dean starts, suddenly remembering that Benny is very much there and very much watching their whole exchange. He takes a reluctant step back, gesturing hastily.

“Um, Cas, this is Benny. Benny, Castiel.”

Benny sticks out his hand.

“Pleased to meetcha.”

Castiel takes the offered hand, but his attention is still hyper-focused on Dean. Benny hastily excuses himself a few minutes later, but Castiel barely notices. 

He doesn’t leave Dean’s side for the rest of the night.

By the time the clock strikes one, almost everyone has gone. Only Charlie remains, yawning.

“I’d say that was a success, wouldn’t you?” She says, looping an arm around Dean’s waist.

“Dunno.” Dean twists his lips, but he squeezes her back. “Still debating on disowning you.”

She rolls her eyes, punching him in the shoulder as they part.

“And Castiel, um—Cas.” 

She hesitates a little, tripping over the unfamiliar nickname, but reaches out to take his hand, squeezing it. 

“I’m really glad it’s you,” she says honestly. 

And to Castiel’s surprise, she hugs him too, throwing her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek.

After that, Charlie quickly says goodnight and takes her leave, waving to them both before turning off towards home. Castiel is stock-still by Dean’s side, looking awed, one hand touching the spot where Charlie kissed him. It makes Dean's heart twist in his chest.

He quickly looks away, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Well.”

Castiel shakes himself out of the moment, turning to look at Dean. Dean shrugs.

“Shall we?”

They walk home, talking lightly, of the party, their friends, taking their time. They leave the lighted streets of the main city and walk the dark lane to Dean’s house, and Castiel lifts his hand, sending a brilliant sparkle of silver light into the air. It curls and twists beautifully into a glowing ball above their heads, hovering gently above them, illuminating the rest of the way home. Dean smiles at the little light. Mom used to make something similar, but it was golden in color, and warm like the sun. Sometimes Sam would try to recreate the spell, faint little wisps of light spinning from his fingertips. 

Castiel looks over at Dean, question breaking him out of the memory. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks.

He sounds casual, but Dean can sense the worry behind it. Dean gives him an easy smile.

“What, from Bartholomew?” He chuckles. “C’mon. I coulda taken him.”

Castiel loosens, and he laughs too.

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says, jokingly puffing out his chest. “I’m stronger than I look. Kinda happens when you haul bags of fertilizer around all day.”

Castiel tilts his head.

“I’ve noticed.”

Dean flushes, his face growing hot. Castiel blushes too, but he doesn’t correct himself.

They walk in silence for a moment.

Dean bites at the inside of his cheek, trying desperately to think of something else to say.

“That man Benny seems kind,” Castiel says eventually.

Dean nods, gratefully seizing on the subject.

“He’s great. I think he’s a good addition to the town.”

“He was ready to protect you,” Castiel observes. 

“Oh. Yeah. Guess he was.” 

Dean looks over, clearing his throat. 

“Uh. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Castiel smiles, dipping his head. He’s impossibly more beautiful in this light, silver dusting his hair and making his face glow. 

“You’re welcome.”

Then his eyes dance, a slow smirk curling his lips.

“Though I suppose next time, I’ll let you ‘take him’.”

Dean smacks his arm.

Their teasing lasts them all the way down to the end of the lane, both of them laughing as they round the corner, towards the gate for Dean’s house. Once there, they quickly fall quiet.

“Well.” Dean says eventually. “…This is me.”

Castiel nods slowly.

He seems to hesitate for a moment, then turns to Dean, meeting his eyes fully. 

“Thank you, Dean,” he says softly. “For tonight.”

Dean frowns, raising an eyebrow. Castiel answers his silent question.

“While I wasn’t planning on this either, I think it was the easiest way to tell everyone.” 

He reaches out, gently taking Dean’s hand. 

“And I know you are not the most comfortable with being in the spotlight,” he continues softly, “So you being there and by my side means all the more to me.”

Dean grips at his hand, a relentless sweet ache blooming in his chest. He’s not good with words, not like Cas, so he doesn’t say what he really wants to say, like _ you make me feel brave enough to do anything, _ or _ I’d face a hundred townspeople if it meant making you happy. _

“Of course, Cas,” he murmurs instead.

He takes a deep breath, a sudden wild thought seizing him. 

“Do you—”

Castiel tilts his head, pinning him with that blue stare, and Dean loses his nerve.

"Um...guess this is goodnight then."

Castiel nods slowly, his other hand coming up to Dean's cheek.

“Goodnight," he says.

He kisses him once, soft. Dean has to stop himself from leaning forward as they part, chasing after Castiel’s lips.

Castiel breathes in, still holding his hand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmurs. 

Dean can’t do more than nod.

Castiel steps back, and disappears into the shadows, the silver light swirling long into the night.

Dean stares after him for a long while, then groans, dragging a hand over his face.

“Goddammit.”

He stomps inside, muttering.

“All you had to do was ask him to come in,” He snaps at himself. “Not that damn hard, you idiot.”

  
  


Half an hour later, Castiel’s eyes fly open, and he stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, agape.

“I’m an idiot,” he says out loud.

“Don’t beat yourself up, dear,” his mirror says sleepily. 

❧

Castiel breathes in the sweet morning air, hand resting on the brass doorknob. 

He opens the great wooden door, the charm ringing lightly out above him. Dean looks up from the till, everything around him gold and sunshine and earth.

“Cas,” he says, smiling. “You’re early.”

Castiel walks through the crowded front shop, delicately avoiding stepping on some of the friskier leaves of the potted plants that dot the aisles.

“Couldn’t really sleep,” he admits, and it pleases him to see Dean color slightly. It seems he isn’t the only one regretting the way they parted last night.

Castiel slings the bag from this shoulder and steps up to the counter, starting to pull everything he needs out of his bag. Dean watches the ever-growing pile of supplies, his face going pinched.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks for the millionth time, and Castiel rolls his eyes, nodding.

“Yes, Dean. We’ve been over this.”

“Well, I know you won’t be at your full strength, and I’m just saying if you want to wait—”

“Dean.”

Castiel takes two swift steps, sealing his mouth to Dean’s—and Dean quickly goes pliant under his hands, melting into him. When they part, Dean is blinking dazedly, speechless. 

“While your worry is endearing,” Castiel says patiently. “I’ll be fine.”

He can only hope Dean believes him.

Not that he’s so sure he believes in himself. The last large spell he’d taken on was Dean’s request to reaffix the djinn back to his scrying glass, and that had required a decent amount of power, leaving him feeling weak. This spell, while complicated, should perhaps not take as much out of him. 

But as the day draws closer, Castiel isn’t entirely sure. They certainly are playing with fire, but this Sunday is the blood moon, and if they perform the ritual in coincidence with the eclipse, Castiel’s magic will return in full-force, and then some. 

Dean returns his smile, but it sits uneasy in Castiel’s heart, and he knows it’s not the end of the conversation. One they’ve been avoiding the past couple of days.

The bell jingles, signaling the entrance of a customer, and Castiel steps back to a respectful distance. 

“I’ll set up in the back,” he says, picking up his materials. Dean nods.

“Okay,” he says, smiling. “Be there in a second.”

Castiel leaves the coolness of the shop and enters the sweltering heat of the greenhouse, looking around appreciatively. He’s only been in here a few times in his human form, mostly seeing it through Cat’s eyes. The details are so much sharper now, and the _ colors. _ Beautiful reds and purples, flowers bursting from every corner, tall spiraling leaves arching up so high Castiel believes the ceiling must be enchanted. He smiles. Despite all Dean’s comments about not being successful, he’s built something truly beautiful here, and all on his own.

Castiel lays down his bag in the center of the greenhouse floor, kneeling in the soft dirt. The spell is not something he’s tried before, but he has full confidence in its success. He draws a few quick sigils in the dirt, sprinkling some crushed iris and cypress root within the lines. Castiel sits back, closing his eyes.

He brings his hands up in front of him, feeling the swirling energy start to take form. He keeps his eyes closed, concentrating, but he can imagine the scene. Gold and green threads, weaving delicately into a sparkling orb, pulsing and humming with the life around him.

Then, to his left, a new, gleaming source of energy, so bright as to nearly blind him. 

Castiel smiles, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“You can come closer, Dean.”

He hears Dean shift his weight, his tone betraying his surprise.

“Busted.”

Castiel opens his eyes.

With his human sight, Dean is no less dazzling. Having him so near will be dangerous for Castiel’s concentration, but he needs him, at least for the final part of the incantation.

He starts to speak, as Dean comes closer and sits on a nearby bench, watching as Cas explains, his hands moving in strong graceful movements.

“The sigils lock in the life and power, within the boundaries of the greenhouse,” Castiel says, his right hand swirling across the floor, gathering up a fistful of dirt. “They’ll allow it to be bent in a way which you can control.”

He looks over.

“And I’ll actually need you, towards the end, so please stay close.”

Dean nods.

Castiel turns back again, concentrating.

A lesser spellworker would need a continuous connection to their soul for the spell to last, meaning a constant drain on energy. Castiel is confident he can construct the spell so that the charm draws its strength from the greenhouse’s own life force, channelling and flowing the energy back into itself in a self-sustaining web.

It will be exhausting, but something he’s happy to do.

The green light swirling around him crackles, and Dean watches, fascinated.

“But you’re the caster. Shouldn’t—”

“Not if you help me, at the right moment,” Castiel answers, already knowing Dean’s question. “The control will center on you. The greenhouse will generate its own power, but you’ll call the shots. All you’ll need to do is think it, and it’ll happen.”

“Kinda like having the magic myself,” Dean jokes.

Castiel looks up, the light between his fingers dulling slightly. 

Dean quickly coughs and moves to kneel next to Castiel, a smile on his face. He masks it well, but Castiel is starting to learn the way Dean hides. He saw the sadness in his eyes.

“Where do you need me?” Dean asks, determinedly avoiding his gaze.

Castiel bites his lip, but then sighs, concentrating the green-gold strands into a solid disk, hovering about six inches off the ground.

“Place your hand here,” he says. 

Dean reaches out, hesitantly, and places his hand on top of the shimmering disk. Castiel’s hand reaches under and grips Dean, the power singing around their clasped hands, sinking into their connection.

Castiel closes his eyes, murmuring the last words of the spell.

A heady rush, and Castiel feels the closure within him, the indication that the spell was a success. The power ebbs and draws back, forming a tidy border within the walls of the greenhouse. 

Castiel releases Dean’s hand, falling back.

“Cas—”

Dean, shaking him, a strong hand supporting his back.

“You okay?”

Castiel blinks his eyes open, wondering how he ended up on the floor. 

“I—yes, but...”

He stares at Dean in wonder, unable to explain what just happened.

Castiel should feel exhausted, drained, especially in his weakened state. A spell of that magnitude...

But instead of feeling faint, he feels…invigorated. 

Dean helps him up, looking him over anxiously.

“What’s wrong? Did the spell not work?”

Castiel quickly shakes his head.

“I—no. The opposite. Everything’s perfect.”

He waves a hand.

“Try it out.”

Dean still looks unsure, but after a moment he turns, looking up. He concentrates, brow furrowing. 

Instantly the searing heat in the greenhouse eases up, the air cooling to a pleasant temperature.

Dean looks back at him, giddy with awe. 

“Dude—”

He immediately jumps up, eager to experiment with the various sections. Castiel watches with quiet pride, glowing as Dean tests out his new control, hands hovering over the warm bubble the tropical plants sit in. He visits each of his plants in turn, ensuring they have what they need. Castiel leans back, smiling as Dean checks in with a particularly surly chard plant that perks up only when Dean kneels to check its leaves, murmuring to it in low tones.

Above them the big leafy greens sway serenely, searching for the most sunlight. The rose bushes are humming, adding a peaceful air to the cool stillness of the greenhouse.

“This is incredible,” Dean says happily as he comes back to sit next to Cas. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel replies, smiling. “I’m happy to help.”

“And you’re sure you’re okay?” Dean asks, a slight note of worry pinching his brow.

Castiel reaches out, taking Dean’s hand.

“Better than I’ve felt in a long time.”

He squeezes his hand gently.

Dean goes soft and silent, leaning in—

Then above them, the proximity charm rings, loud and obnoxious.

❧

Dean pulls back abruptly, yanked out of the moment.

Castiel looks abashed, sitting back. Dean stands, wiping the dirt from his pants.

“Better see who it is,” he says awkwardly. 

He moves towards the connecting glass door, lip twisting once he spies the visitor on the other side.

“Uh-oh. It’s April.”

Castiel looks up sharply.

“April?”

Dean nods, crossing his arms.

“Can’t imagine what she wants,” he mutters. “It’s not like she ever comes in here. Must be to talk to you.”

Then he lights up, and turns, grinning.

“Does your magic greenhouse spell include locking people out, Cas—Cas?”

He stops abruptly. Cas has vanished. In his place is a black cat, slowly curling up on the end of the bench they had been sitting on. The cat tucks his tail around him, looking at Dean smugly.

Dean’s jaw drops.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Hello!” April singsongs, pushing open the door. 

Dean turns, forcing a smile onto his face.

“April. Hey.” He clears his throat. “What can I do for you?”

She ignores him in favor of looking around the greenhouse, craning her neck.

“Castiel isn’t around, is he?” She asks.

The black cat twitches its ears.

Dean crosses his arms.

“No,” he says evenly. “‘Fraid you just missed him.”

April tsks sadly, and as if on cue, Castiel stands, stretching out his back, long and low. The motion attracts April’s eye, and she immediately heads straight for the cat, holding her hand out.

“Oooh, but this is his famous cat now, isn’t it? Suppose you two are quite good friends at this point.”

“You know, I’m not really sure of that,” Dean says, glaring at the cat. The cat just blinks, in a thoroughly self-satisfied kind of way.

April starts cooing, petting over Castiel’s head and scratching his ears. He _ preens _ under the attention, letting out a low purr.

“Well, you _ are _adorable, aren’t you? Yes, you are, even if you don’t have that precious wonderful key anymore—”

“Why are you here, April?” Dean says impatiently.

April has the gall to look affronted, but she stands, straightening her clothes.

“Charlie sent me,” she says snippily. “She said she was busy, but she needs some ginger and rhubarb. Right away.”

Dean grits his teeth.

“Did she now.”

First Cas, now Charlie. He really needs some new friends. If these are the kind of things his current ones thinks are funny.

He quickly escorts her to the front, bagging up some cut ginger and several of his more wilted rhubarb stalks. April barely glances at the bag Dean hands her, smiling vacantly.

“Tell Castiel I stopped by, won’t you?”

Dean smiles thinly. 

“Of course.”

The door tinkles in her wake, and Dean storms back to the greenhouse.

Cas is still perched on the end of the bench, blue eyes watching him amusedly.

“You’re an asshole,” Dean tells him.

Cas’s tail twitches, and he could swear the bastard is smiling.

Dean narrows his eyes.

“Alright. That’s how you want to play this?”

He grabs a nearby spray bottle and attacks Cas, who yelps, tumbling off the bench to get away from the wet. 

After a moment, he pops up, human again, very disheveled and shirt damp.

“What was that for?” He asks indignantly.

Dean sets the bottle down, crossing his arms.

“For leaving me alone with dragon lady, dick.”

Castiel straightens, picking at his ruined shirt.

“It’s not my fault that she still won’t leave me alone,” he says petulantly. 

Dean scoffs.

“Dude. You can’t pull that every time you want to avoid a conversation.”

“Watch me,” Castiel says, but he’s smiling.

❧

Castiel dresses quickly and heads downstairs. Dean’s coming over for breakfast, and Castiel is determined to have everything ready before he arrives. 

While he has never considered himself a great cook, his magic allows him an advantage, and he quickly sets the eggs to scramble themselves on low heat, as he focuses on setting the table. It’s far from their first meal together—Dean has cooked for him numerous times, and not just when he was a cat—but this is the first time he’s coming to Castiel’s house, so he flits about the kitchen anxiously, wanting everything to be perfect.

He pulls down the salt and pepper shakers from their spot on his shelves, closing the cabinet with a wave of his hand. He turns around and abruptly stops.

There’s a man standing in his kitchen, looking around with an impressed interest.

Castiel’s entire property is rigged with proximity charms, so he’s instantly on high alert. 

“Um. Excuse me.”

The man turns around, and to Castiel’s surprise, his face breaks out into a beaming smile.

“Hey! Oh, good, I think I got it right. I mean, I think I’m a little early—”

Castiel steps back, eyeing him warily. It’s clear the man is a witch, but Castiel’s wards are strong. And intruder would have to have significant power to cross them.

The man stops rambling, hazel eyes going wide. 

“Whoa—sorry. Let me back up.”

He waves a hand, smiling.

“I’m Sam. Dean’s brother.”

Castiel blinks.

“Sam,” he repeats.

Realization and understanding flood through him.

“Of course. He did mention that you would try to visit.”

He extends his hand. 

“I’m Castiel.”

He attempts to grasp Sam’s hand, but his passes straight through. He looks up, raising an eyebrow.

“Um...right. Sorry,” Sam says sheepishly. “I’m not exactly…here, here.”

Castiel recognizes it now, the slight blurring of his outline, the slight haze in the air. He steps around Sam, examining the apparition.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs. Sam shrugs.

“Can’t get away from school quite yet, but once Dean told me the news, I had to meet you.”

“You’re projecting from school grounds?” Castiel asks. Dangerous, risky, and not to mention highly forbidden. Something Castiel may have tried once or twice.

He finds himself liking Sam already. 

“Figured I could twist the rules to meet my future brother-in-law,” Sam says, smirking.

At that moment, his front door bursts open, and Dean spills in.

“Whatever he told you is a _ lie_,” he rushes out. “He’s been telling that story for years, but it _ wasn’t _ that many noodles, and it was only _ one _ time!”

Castiel blinks at him. Sam rolls his eyes, muttering an annoyed _ Dean. _

“Relax,” Sam says. “I just got here.”

Dean’s chest heaves, and he looks back and forth between the two of them, scowling at Sam.

“Only _ you _ would astral project to meet someone.”

“He’s going to be my in-law, Dean,” Sam answers snottily. “I think I’m allowed.”

Castiel jumps in at this point, shutting the door behind Dean and taking his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam,” he says, highly amused. “But now I absolutely demand to hear this story.”

The pair of them sit down to breakfast (Sam elects to stand, as he can’t exactly occupy a chair), and Sam does indeed launch into a parade of stories, some more recent ones from school that Dean hasn’t yet heard, and a few embarrassing ones from childhood. Though he does abruptly clam up when Dean turns the tables on him and asks about someone named Eileen.

Castiel retells the entire story of the key and the cat, this time with no selective editing. Dean interjects occasionally, but he’s more preoccupied with his breakfast, which to Castiel’s delight, he pronounces as ‘friggin’ delicious’. 

Slowly, the talk turns to magic, as it inevitably does with witches, and Castiel carefully monitors Dean for any sign that he feels uncomfortable, or left out. But Dean seems unperturbed, even jumping in occasionally with his own knowledge of a particular spell or potion. Sam in particular is interested in Castiel’s practice, and asks him various questions about what his life has been like since leaving school, as well as for some advice on some of the trickier incantations to cast. 

“Don’t even get this one started on levitating spells,” Dean says around a mouthful of toast. “When he was five he jumped off the shed—”

“And broke his arm,” Castiel finishes. Both brothers look at him. 

Castiel clears his throat, lowering his coffee cup.

“You told me that one,” he explains quickly to Dean. “When I was a cat.”

Sam throws Dean a gleeful look, and he opens his mouth—but Dean jabs his fork at him.

“Not a word.”

He lowers his hand, looking at Sam through narrowed eyes.

“In fact, shouldn’t you be going? Sounds like the homework’s really piling up. And me ‘n Cas, we got stuff to do.”

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother, but acquiesces.

“Fine.”

He turns to Castiel, smiling eagerly.

“It was nice to meet you, Cas. Really. And do you mind if I call you sometime soon? There’s this tricky bit of Adelbrand’s pentacle that I can’t quite get, and I’d appreciate any pointers.”

Castiel nods.

“Of course. Just don’t go projecting out of school again. I don’t want you getting in trouble on my account.”

Sam laughs.

“Deal.”

Castiel stands and starts to move the dishes to the sink, letting the brothers say their goodbyes.

He sees Sam shimmer and vanish out of the corner of his eye, and Dean comes up to his side a moment later.

“Hey, let me do that,” he says, reaching out. Castiel shakes his head.

“It’s fine.”

“C’mon, you cooked.” Dean reaches to take the plate from him, smiling. “It’s the least I can do.”

Castiel hesitates, but hands Dean the plate, stepping back to let him take over.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “If I shouldn’t have brought up the...cat thing.”

Dean looks over.

“What do you mean?”

Castiel shrugs.

“I think I just gave Sam ammunition to tease you for the next several years.”

Dean laughs, and the sound of it is intoxicating.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he says, shaking his head. “I just keep forgetting what you already know.”

He hands Castiel a dish, and he dries it with a towel he conjures up, before setting it back in its place. 

“Doesn’t seem fair,” Dean continues, half-joking. “You know everything about me but I hardly know anything about you.”

Castiel lowers the towel.

“That’s not true.”

Then he thinks on it, and realizes Dean might have a point. While they have been getting to know each other (in human form, anyway), the amount of information on his part has been fairly uneven.

He takes another plate from Dean, and he picks at its patterned edge.

“What do you want to know?” He says eventually.

Dean glances at him.

“Really?”

He thinks for a minute, biting his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Did you go to school like Sam?” He asks first.

Castiel nods.

“Yes. In France. The Academy in Orléans.”

Dean whistles, clearly impressed, and Castiel’s heart warms. Most mortals don’t know or understand the prestige that sentence carries, but with Dean, there’s no need to explain.

“Your family?” Dean asks next.

“My father was a familiar,” Castiel explains. “My mother a witch. And my grandmother, you know, of course. No brothers or sisters. I have a cousin who’s fairly eccentric, but I rarely see him.”

Dean nods, turning off the faucet and wiping his hands. He turns to face Castiel, those green eyes catching his.

“Tell me a secret.”

Castiel smiles.

“I'm afraid of spiders.”

“That's not a secret.”

“It is when people don’t expect a witch to be scared of anything.”

Dean laughs again, and Castiel decides he never wants to go another day without hearing that wonderful sound. 

He tilts his head, looking at Castiel curiously. 

“How old are you?”

Castiel shifts his weight.

“I know I look young for my age, but I’m seventy-two.”

Dean blinks at him for a moment.

“I’m only thirty-one,” he eventually says. Castiel nods.

“I know.”

Dean is avoiding his eyes, instead focused on a crack in the floor.

“So…that doesn’t bother you?”

“No.” Castiel steps closer. “Does it bother you?”

It’s a while before Dean answers.

“No, I guess,” he says finally.

He turns, leaning back against the counter.

“Just, um. Wondering how it’ll all play out.” 

At Castiel’s curious glance, he shrugs. 

“With me not being a witch,” he mumbles. 

“That’s another reason for the ritual,” Castiel says. “It will extend your lifespan far beyond normal, perhaps almost as long as mine.”

Dean’s throat clicks. 

“Wow,” he says softly.

Then he looks away, abruptly changing the subject.

“Okay. Ready to tackle some plants?”

Castiel frowns, but lets it go, and follows Dean out into the sunlight of the yard.

Dean bites at his lip, looking out the mess in front of him. Castiel nudges his side.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asks, lilting his voice in an imitation of Dean from yesterday. 

Dean gives him a glare, but there’s no heat in it.

“You fixed up my greenhouse, so I fix up your garden. I plan on earning my keep around here.”

He kneels, looking at the nearest shrub, sad and wilting by his feet.

“Besides, I’d consider ignoring this a serious crime.”

Castiel rolls his eyes.

Fertilizer, pots, a shovel and a few trowels—surprisingly, Castiel found he had all of these supplies, tucked away in an aging garden shed. Dean lights up, and immediately sets Castiel to work, repotting and weeding and watering. 

It’s something that he could take care of with a spell or two, but Castiel finds the manual labor rewarding. And it’s also a great gift to work next to Dean, sweating in his undershirt in the sun, shoulders tan and gloriously freckled.

Castiel is so distracted that he only notices he’s overwatered the bell flowers when they turn up, crowing in displeasure at the flood in their pot. 

After a few hours, Castiel retreats to the house to fix them some cold mint tea and sandwiches, stretching out his sore arms.

“Cas, did you know you got a hellebore plant here?” Dean asks incredulously, as Castiel approaches. 

Castiel sets down the tray.

“Yes, actually. Grandmother always talked about its curative powers.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“You do know it’s incredibly poisonous?”

“She...might have mentioned that, yes.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head.

By the time the sun sets, Dean has managed to wrangle Castiel’s forest into something more closely resembling a garden. The dead plants are gone, the weeds removed, and some of the less-fortunate plants look fresher, brightened simply through care and attention. The hydrangeas are already improved, growing pinker and plumper by the minute.

“Dean, really.” Castiel turns to him and smiles. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Of course, Cas.” Dean stands, brushing the dirt from his jeans. "Any time." 

Castiel feels his cheeks warm, and he looks down, out across his new beautiful garden. A thought hits him and he kneels, plucking a few of the rose petals. 

Dean frowns.

“Whatcha doing?”

Castiel straightens, indicating the petals. 

“One of the ingredients. For the ritual tomorrow.”

And there it is.

Dean is no longer relaxed and casual. His shoulders go tight and his eyes slide off to the side, hiding those green eyes from Castiel.

“Hey.”

Castiel reaches out, placing a hand on Dean’s arm.

“Dean,” he says softly.

Dean still doesn’t look at him. Castiel sighs.

“Every time I’ve mentioned the ritual, you’ve acted strangely. What’s the matter?”

Dean hesitates, biting his lip. Castiel lowers his voice.

“Dean,” he murmurs. “It’s just me.”

“It’s just—”

Dean stops, closing his eyes briefly.

“This bond,” he says, voice small. “It’s for life.”

Castiel nods slowly, his heart sinking.

Of course. He should have seen this coming. Dean is having second thoughts, and rightly, wants to back out of this before making the commitment. Because it isn’t fair for Castiel to ask this of Dean if he’s not committed, even if Castiel is so sure—

“And you want that?” Dean continues, darting his eyes up to meet Cas’s. “With me?”

Castiel blinks. 

“What?”

“I mean—”

Dean drags a hand through his hair, rambling.

“Are you sure? Really sure? Because I’m in, you know—but are you really ready to jump in the sack with some guy you barely know? And, then, earlier, you said it might be for a really long time, stuck with me for the next few hundred years—”

Castiel brings a hand to Dean’s arm, stopping him. 

“Dean.”

Dean falls silent, looking down.

Castiel clears his throat, choosing his next words carefully.

“Are you saying...that your only hesitation is because you think _ I _am having doubts?”

“I—well, yeah. I guess,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding Castiel's eyes. “I don't want you to get through the first decade and decide you’ve had enough.”

Castiel is suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of feeling for this man, always thinking of others’ happiness before his own. 

“Dean,” he starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“Because you’re it for me,” he says firmly, finally looking up.

Castiel stares at him.

“What?” He breathes.

“This is it for me, okay?” Dean says. “I’m all in.”

“Dean—”

“No—”

Dean pulls his arm away from Castiel, pacing suddenly.

“Let me finish, alright? I—I know we have to do this ritual, and I know it’s not your choice—”

He keeps rambling, looking more agonized with every word.

“But I want to do this for you, I want to be _ with _you, and part of me is stupidly glad—but there’s this tiny voice in the back of my head telling me that we’re gonna do this and then one day you’ll wake up and realize this was a mistake, that you don’t want to be with me after all—”

“How could you think that?” Castiel stutters out. “Dean—”

Dean scoffs, spreading his hands.

“I told you, I’m nothing. I’m ordinary. And you’re—”

He stops, gesturing to Castiel.

They’re both silent for a moment, breathing heavily.

Then Castiel sets his jaw, shaking his head slowly.

“Dean Winchester, you are endlessly frustrating.”

Dean looks taken aback.

“What?”

Castiel spreads his hands.

“Do you really think so little of me?”

Dean’s eyes widen.

“No, Cas—”

“You really think I would commit to something like this if I wasn’t entirely certain?” Castiel asks. “Dean—”

He takes a deep breath. 

“I would rather lose my powers than bind myself to someone I didn’t love. And if you don’t want to do this, we’ll call off the ritual. Grandmother’s will be damned,” he says firmly.

Dean has gone soft and still, and he’s staring at Castiel in wonder, his mouth slightly open. Castiel stands firm. He doesn’t regret what he said—it’s the truth. He’ll miss his magicks, sure, but he won’t commit Dean to a life of unhappiness. 

Then Dean speaks.

“Love?” He repeats softly. 

Castiel swallows, then nods.

“Love,” he admits.

He steps forward slowly, reaching out. But Dean doesn’t back away, and Castiel takes Dean’s hands, pulling them to his chest.

“You’re anything but ordinary, Dean Winchester,” Castiel says softly. “If I have to say it a thousand times until you believe me, I will.”

Dean closes his eyes, taking a shivering breath. Castiel reaches up, brushing his fingers over Dean’s cheek.

“I want this with you,” he says. “How long will it take you to believe it?”

Dean huffs a soft laugh, pressing in closer to Castiel. 

“Maybe a few hundred more times,” he murmurs.

Castiel smiles, and does just that.

❧

The room is dark, swathed in cloth, dusky gold and reds, muting the moonlight filtering through. The sun has already set, and they’re just edging past midnight, for the peak of the blood moon. 

Candles burn, filling the room with a heady aroma, making Dean’s head swim.

“Gold for strength,” Castiel says softly, scattering gold dust in the wrought-iron bowl before him. “Rose for passion.”

He crumples the petals in his hand, letting them fall.

“Sage, for wisdom.”

They’re both barefoot, in soft cotton pants, sitting opposite each other across an altar with a pentagram drawn around it. Dean watches silently as Castiel adds a few more ingredients, crocus, yellow jasmine—then waves a hand over the bowl on the altar, and it sparks with sudden flame, deep translucent blue. 

Dean breathes, the heat in the room making a bead of sweat drip down his back—or perhaps that’s just Castiel’s eyes.

“With this flame, burn the night away,” Castiel intones. “Let it light the power inside, and let it grow as bright.”

He cups his hands around the bowl, and blows out the flame, sending up swirling silver smoke.

He sits back, and brings his hands to his shirt, which he slowly begins to unbutton.

Dean’s stomach flips. 

“Shirt off,” Castiel says, nodding towards him. “Please.”

Dean swallows, nodding shakily.

He pulls his black tee over his head, and lets it drop somewhere to the side, never looking away from Castiel’s eyes. Castiel extends a hand.

Dean lays his hand on top of Castiel’s, palm up. Castiel dips two fingers into the bowl of anointing oil, golden and warm, then proceeds to mark Dean’s palms, left, then right. Forehead, the space between his brows, the curve of his clavicle.

Then Dean’s turn, and he does the same to Castiel. He takes his time, gentle as he turns Castiel’s hands upward, smoothing a thumb over his brow. Dean drags careful fingers over the dip of Castiel’s collarbone, and Dean hears Castiel's breath hitch, his eyes going dark in the dim light.

Dean drops his hand, finished with his task, but makes no attempt to move away.

Castiel bends towards him, surrounding him, enveloping him, yet never moving from his spot. Dean’s eyes close, and he imagines the touch, the traces the magic leaves on his skin. 

Castiel starts chanting softly, in a language Dean doesn’t recognize—but instinctively, he knows the words.

_ Bring me your love, bring me relief. _

Castiel’s hands, smooth with ash from the fire, on Dean’s hand.

_ Let me come to you and sleep beside you and join you to my soul. _

He follows the same path, and the ash mixes with the oil, smearing across his skin.

_ I worship you with everything within me, inside my mind, everywhere. _

The ash is cool, but Castiel’s touch feels like fire, leaving burning trails in its wake.

_Bring the light._

Dean’s turn now, and he smoothes the ash over Castiel’s arms, his chest, over the sigils inked in his skin.

Castiel’s chant starts again, and Dean joins in, the words coming from some unknown source. Castiel’s eyes begin to glow, the ritual taking full effect.

_ Bring me your love, bring me relief. _

_ Let me come to you and sleep beside you and join you to my soul. _

_ I worship you with everything within me, inside my mind, everywhere. _

_ Bring the light._

Castiel starts trembling, and Dean holds him, taking Castiel’s hands and bringing their foreheads together. He holds him there, an anchor, pulling him close even though Castiel’s eyes are burning so bright, it hurts. 

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean whispers. “Almost there.”

Castiel gasps, nodding shakily. His hands grip Dean’s so tight they start to hurt.

“_As you are mine, I am yours_,” he recites, and the connection between them throbs, reaching its breaking point.

Dean echoes him, tightening the grip on Castiel’s hands.

“_As you are mine, I am yours_.”

Light sears through Dean, illuminating the entire room. The candles sputter, flare brighter and brighter, as do Castiel’s eyes—and there’s a ringing in Dean’s ears, deafening—

And the light takes him.

❧

“Dean?”

A gentle hand on his face, a soft voice in his ear.

“Dean,” it begs. “Please come back to me.”

Dean opens his eyes.

“Can you hear me?” Castiel’s mouth asks, his face swimming into view.

Dean breathes, one word.

“Cas.”

The relief in Castiel is immediate, his hands rushing to cup Dean’s face.

“Thank the stars,” he breathes out. “I was starting to get worried.”

Dean’s throat is dry, lips cracked.

“What…what happened?”

“You passed out,” Castiel answers, brushing a hand over Dean’s forehead. “The power of the bonding was much stronger than I realized it would be.”

Dean nods, even though he’s not sure he understands. He feels fine—good, actually—no. Better than good. He can feel the aftereffects from Castiel’s spell, but underneath there’s something new, a strange _ pull_. 

“What’s...what’s the reason for that?” Dean asks, still reeling.

Castiel bites his lip.

“Could be several things,” he says slowly. “When the emotional bond is particularly strong. Or…if both people are incredibly magical.”

Everything stops.

“What?” Dean breathes. 

It’s a hope, a rare, dizzying hope that he hasn’t dared to entertain since he was fifteen years old.

Castiel takes hold of Dean’s hands, speaking fast.

“When you said the magic in your family skipped you…” He shakes his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

Dean can barely breathe. 

His entire life, he’d resigned himself to being ordinary, an outsider to his family’s power. Happiness radiates around and inside him, edged with a tinge of wonder—and Dean realizes it’s Castiel, the ritual’s bond linking them completely. He reaches out, feeling—and immediately finds Castiel’s power, deep and electric and vast as the ocean. But there’s something else, underneath it, no less powerful. Something green and blooming, twisting like flowering vines around Castiel’s silver strength. 

“I can feel you,” Dean breathes. “I can feel everything.”

Castiel smiles, bright enough to outshine the sun. He pulls Dean close, hands gripping at his arms.

“I can too,” he says, breathless. “And it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Before, I was strong, but this…”

He trails off, words failing him. 

Dean almost can’t believe it. It feels too real, too raw, too much of everything he’s ever wanted but pretended he didn’t. But Castiel’s heartbeat is steady underneath Dean’s hand, throbbing with every beat, reminding him, this is real—_real, real, real_.

“What does it mean?” He asks eventually, his hands trembling.

Castiel presses his forehead to Dean’s.

“I don’t know.”

His voice is low, soft.

“But I’ll find out with you,” he murmurs. 

Dean pulls him close and speaks his gratitude against his lips, hoping Castiel understands.

❧

Castiel sets up a workstation in Dean’s store. 

It just makes sense—most ingredients that Castiel requires for his charms and potions are already in the greenhouse, and he’s able to work as Dean helps out customers, selling the occasional charm to interested clientele.

Dean still has his house, even though he’s fully moved into Castiel’s, already designating one of the many extra rooms as his very own ‘Dean Cave’. Sam finally finishes school the next year, and he moves to be closer to Dean, taking Dean’s old house, bringing with him a lovely witch named Eileen, who Castiel adores.

Most nights can find them at Charlie’s bakery, bickering good-naturedly after a long day. Their town quickly becomes one of the most prestigious in the area, due to the presence of not one, but _ three _town witches, a fact that Hannah never fails to mention when other dignitaries come to visit. 

And even if it's been a few years, and the story of the key has faded into legend, Dean Winchester’s greenhouse is still the best this side of the river, and sometimes folks’ll see him, walking back late at night to the old Novak house, a black cat winding around his heels. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
